All Alone
Do you ever get that feeling that something isn’t right? What was that noise you heard just now? Was it in a dream or was it real? It sounded like an engine. A deep, throaty engine that you recognise and have heard many times. You sit up in bed and see that it is nearly three in the morning. You tilt your heard and listen, ears straining for that familiar, dread sound. You hear nothing. Perhaps the engine has been killed and that vehicle is sat outside now. Am I say in the pool of darkness cast by a fence, alert and watching your house. That knotted sensation is quick to take hold of your stomach as you slowly emerge from the bed. You move carefully feeling as if the rustle of the duvet or your bare feet on the floor will make a sound that I can hear. You know it is foolish for my hearing is not that sharp, but you are placed on tenterhooks and accordingly move in the same way. You make your way to the window where the curtains are drawn. You feel like flinging them back in one sudden motion hoping to make me jump. You see an image of my face pressed against the window, devilish leer prominent and unnerving. Carefully you move the curtain a fraction and peer through the gap. Your range of vision is limited and you cannot see everything but my vehicle does not appear to be there. Am I watching those curtains which I used to gently pull apart once upon a time? Or am I prowling about the outside of your house, looking for an open window or an unlocked door? You have held your breath, not daring to breathe, your drumming heart loud and roaring in your ears and you wonder if you mistook that sound for the one of my car engine but you know what you heard. Perhaps I had just driven past? How many times have you seen an anthracite black Mercedes from the corner of your eye as you have walked to the shops, headed to a bar or emerged from work? Your heart leaps every time you see one and your eyes dart to the registration plate to ascertain whether it is my car. Of course, I might have changed cars now. You do not know for sure. You want to drive past where I live and ascertain which vehicle I drive so that you can keep an eye out for it, but you fear that I may see you doing this and derive satisfaction from your appearance. Something does not feel right. You experience this sensation often these days. The hairs on your neck stand up as you feel that you are being watched. When you are about to emerge from your office building you stand behind the glass and chrome scanning the plaza outside for any sign that I am stood there. You think you have spotted me twice but then I departed, evidently alert to your perception. Once you walked leisurely from your place of work to the car park but now you scurry, hoping not to be spotted and hoping that your car has not been tampered with. Your eyes follow the same drill. They flash over the windows to ensure they have not been smashed. You look to the windscreen wiper to see if a hate-filled note lies tucked beneath one of the blades. There have been several although they are always printed so you were never able to demonstrate they were from me (you wouldn’t be able to anyway – I have them printed on a lieutenant’s PC not my own, I am no amateur). Your eyes look over the external bodywork for signs of scratches, dents and lights smashed before you check the exhaust and tyres. You never get in without ensuring nobody is lurking in the back seat and once in you lock the doors automatically and then allow yourself to breathe.
Something does not feel right. It is the same sensation as when you walk anywhere alone. Your steps are hurried, furtive glances cast over your shoulder, alleyways scrutinised, walking by the kerb, away from gates and hedges. You cross the road when a shadowy figure walks towards you. Often you have someone accompany you but it is not always possible. You pull the curtain aside a little so your range of vision is increased. You can see all to the left of your house but nothing appears to be amiss. You look to the road but you cannot see any vehicle but then again I might be parked around the corner and now stood in the shadow of a tree watching your pale face peering out. You look to your mobile ‘phone, always charged and ready and consider calling the police, but what would you tell them? You think you heard my car engine? They have been out once this week and although they are always polite you gain the impression that the officers are beginning to think that you are hearing and seeing things. You can tell. Their polite reassurances do not entirely mask the resigned tones with which they speak. Should you call the police? It might be sensible. Even if I am watching, the arrival of a patrol car should send me slinking away and what about if I am caught lurking outside at this time? That would be good. Then again, perhaps you should wait until you have some concrete evidence, until you see me and then you should call. You do not want the police labelling you a time waster, but something does not feel right.
You shift your position so you can look to the right and silently curse a kink in the curtain as it is obscuring your view. You will need to push it aside and this will surely alert me to your presence. With trembling hand, you move the curtain and then crane forward so you can look over the garden. With experienced ease you let your eyes drift over the garden, the wall and the fence, looking for shapes that do not belong. Your eyes stop on something in the corner of the garden, where the wall and fence meet, a pool of shadow. Is there a figure there? You stare, eyes adjusting to the darkness and wait. You feel light-headed as you stare trying to see if that inky shape is me or just the imagination that these days seems to be out of control. No, you cannot see anybody. Your eyes scan the garden again from your lofty vantage point but you see nothing. What if I am underneath the window, tight against the front door and hidden from view? What if I have gone around the rear of the house? You did lock the side gate didn’t you? You cannot remember. You think you did but you have so many repeated checks before retiring at night that it has become something of a blur. All gates need to be checked, windows closed and locked with keys removed – even during summer you endure the heat rather than keep your windows open. Door handles are tested twice and twice more. French doors pulled and pushed to ensure they are secure. It is a nightly ritual but a necessary one. A friend suggested a dog but who would look after him whilst you were at work. You once felt safe here, especially when I lived here with you, but no longer and moving, in the current market is not an option. Maybe a lodger would be answer? The money would be welcome and so would the company, but this is your home and you resent being forced into these steps by my lingering presence.
Every day when you return from work you sweep the house making sure there has been no entry during the day. You look for anything that has been moved or is out of place which denotes whether a listening device or camera might have been placed in your living room or bedroom. You were pleased you changed the locks straight away when everything went wrong. You ought to have the place professionally swept. You used to wander about the house naked but no longer, you even feel uncomfortable standing in the shower, nervously glancing upwards looking for the winking red light denoting that a camera has been placed on a shelf and you are being watched. Nowhere feels safe from me now. Your sleep is fractured and this had led to you struggling to gauge whether your fears are real or imagined. There are too many withheld calls still, the empty texts from unknown numbers and strange voicemails left at work. You know I am still out there somewhere and you have no idea what I might do.
You can see nobody outside and consider whether you ought to check the rear but you really need to sleep. You lower yourself and sit on the edge of the bed, listening for something, anything. You are met by just the blanketing silence. No throbbing engine, no footsteps on the drive outside, no creeping advance up the stairs, no shattered glass, no jemmied door. You continue to look outside but nothing is moving. Maybe it was a dream? No, you definitely heard that distinctive growl of the engine but maybe it was further away or someone else with the same vehicle. That is possible isn’t it? Your breathing slows and you begin to convince yourself that it was another false alarm. Still, you have that feeling that something doesn’t feel right. You feel as if I have been near. Your eyes shoot to the wardrobe, mind suddenly filled with the thought that I am inside it, peering through the slats and amusing myself at your fearful expression. You try to shake the thought but you cannot. A sudden ball of anger forms inside of you and with a cry you jump up and fling the wardrobe doors open and drive your hands into the clothing inside, you push and pull but find only dresses and tops, suits and jumpers carefully hung up. I am not there. You close the doors and run back into bed, jumping into it, like a frightened child who has to run from door to bed so the monsters under the bed do not grab her ankles. Once in that bed, you are in a cocoon of safety. You pull the duvet over your head and lie there, curled up tight in a ball, cursing me and breathing hard.
Eventually you emerge, face warm from breathing under the duvet and you are grateful for the cold air of your room. You lie back and allow yourself to gradually uncoil, ears still listening out for a sound but there comes none. You glance at the clock and see it is now 3-15 am and you really ought to sleep. You roll on to your side and adjust the pillow, praying that slumber visits you soon. If only that feeling that something is not right would leave you.
Morning arrives and you emerge from bed bleary eyed but thankful that you have at least slept. You attend to your usual routine in the bathroom before dressing and heading down the stairs ready to prepare some breakfast. As you descend the stairs you halt as you see something is lying on the mat underneath the letterbox in the front door. It is square and plastic. It is only 7am and the post man has not yet been although you did not hear anybody put anything through the letter box. You slowly pace down the stairs as that sensation of something being wrong engulfs you. You see it is a CD case that has been deposited. That is not right. Nobody has borrowed any of your CDs. Something is definitely not right. With churning stomach and laboured breath, hammering heart and rising nausea you pick up the CD and turn it over to read the cover.
The Police: Every Breath You Take
That was one of your favourite songs wasn’t it?
Until I told you what the lyrics really meant.
39 thoughts on “All Alone”
Vent Your Spleen! (Please see the Rules in Formal Info)
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HG, What kind of professional should be hired to sweep your home or car for cameras or listening devices?
You need the assistance of an established counter surveillance outfit, not some gumshoe who operates alone. Ascertain how long they have been in business for, get them to explain how the sweep is conducted and how long it will take. If they say it will only take an hour or two, do not use them (unless you live in a shed). Ascertain if they will attend in unmarked vehicles and plain clothes. Make sure they will look for both bugs and tracking devices on your vehicle (some only look for the latter). Also ascertain if they will try to establish if any devices are found who placed them there as this can be worked out in some instances and you may find it useful to know this and therefore see if they also provide this service. There are many providers but these are some of the key elements you should be looking for.
Narc abuse is narc abuse. Regardless of school, cadre or especially if “just” family. I would argue family is worse (though evil just is, there are no shades of grey) than “regular” narc abuse. To the point other narcs are just repetition. Our disordered way of projecting by entangling with narcs. It’s all we know. Until we stop. I do not hold family in higher esteem. Nor would kicking them to the curb without truly teasing this out be helpful. I would find replacements. When I know better. I do better. This blog is a lifeboat. Rescued.
I felt this! Imagined or not, the anxiety was very real to me. I divorced my Nex and later, ended the formal relationship. I retained the house in the divorce; a house with many windows. After 17 years there, I no longer felt safe. The windows made me far too vulnerable to him! So I packed up and moved halfway across the country! Now he only haunts me in my distant memories!
Kimi
I know what u mean. My daughters house in KS has all kinds of big windows. I can never feel safe and alone here. Too many ways to break in – not to mention look in!
Thx kim. I think noname’s first marriage was within the email/internet age (last 20 yrs), unless she is older than i thought. I guess the stalker just didn’t have her email address. All her stories are so out of the ordinary, esp the one abt her and the gangsters, and the one abt the ghost in the blue dress. Perhaps life in russia(?), or her life, is just full of one peculiar or scary or unusual happening after another. In which case, thank god my life in the US is routine.
Lol most people didn’t have internet until around 2005 to 2008 it did exist before that but it was just dial up AOL I had one as a in friend who had dial up way back in the nineties but she was an anomaly Facebook didn’t even exist in most of the 2000s I didn’t have internet until around 2005 and didn’t have a cell phone till around 2004 but I used a computer in college in the nineties but no internet
Lol, Jenna. The life and interaction with numerous Narcs always make your life and decisions extraordinary. I guess, the country has nothing to do with it, albeit the russian people look and sound pretty weird to foreigners. Lol.
Moreover, I’m a magnet for all disasters. One old and very wise woman once said to me “If your mother wanted to kill you (abortion or abandon), you would live in danger all your life”. She was very right. I do.
It was 1999, when that guy started to stalk me. He was our neighbor, but we never talked to one another. It seems I became his imaginery “Amanda”.
I couldn’t talk about him to police, because according to their philisophy “If you are not killed or heavily injured, the problem is absent”. His letters were just a “joke”.
I couldn’t talk about him to my first husband, because he wouldn’t protect me. He would turn that sad situation into “funny public show” instead.
I talked about him to his mother and I showed his letters to her. But the poor woman could do nothing also. She, herself, suffered a lot from his behavior. When he became “decompensated”, she sent him to mental hospital. But nothing could help him. His case was incurable.
Hi noname,
Thank u for ur reply.
U stated: “… the russian people look and sound pretty weird to foreigners.”
Not at all! Russians are beautiful pple and i love the russian accent!
Maybe it is the way in which u write ur stories, there is an air of mystery surrounding them. This signifies that u r a v good writer, and ur english is excellent. I recall u stating that u have an english teacher, correct?
Yeah, Jenna, I have the teacher – pretty angry Narcy guy with a Cambridge degree in English. Grammar Nazi incarnate. Lol.
Noname, even ur english teacher is a narc?!!🤦🏻♀️
U r seriously surrounded by them!
Jenna,
I remember I read the real story about boy, who was lost in the woods and rised by pack of wolwes. When he was found, he was an adult already.
He refused to live with people and came back to his wolves. I understand why he did it. The wolves were his real family. He was comfortable with them. He understood them. He knew the rules. He wasn’t afraid of them. They were his home.
I was rised by another “pack of wolves” –
by Narcs – and they are my family.
It is an anathema to say it here, but if they trust you, if they accept you, if they consider you as member of their “pack”, they are exceptionally loyal and noble people alive. They would sacrify their lives to save yours without a second thought.
But, it doesn’t mean that they are the lapdogs. Their fangs are pretty sharp. Lol.
Noname
I understand your point – other than the part about them sacrificing themselves to save you. If saving me would put their lives at risk, mine would just watch me die and feel sorry for themselves that I was gone. But other than that, I agree with you.
Mine are my family. The only family I’ve ever had. I understand them and they do value me. I am completely loyal and provide many residual benefits. They do consider me “part of the pack” and actively work to take care of me and protect me. In a pack, even the omega dog is important. Strength comes from numbers.
You are very right about omega, Windstorm. That what I am and I don’t mind. Lol.
Not all of my narcs protected me also.
My first husband never protected me. Moreover, once he left me (escaped) on the night street to “deal” with two bandits, who wanted my gold earings. Those bandits just yanked my earings from my ears without even unclasping them and then, because I didn’t scream, they had a discussion – “what if we play with her a little, would she cry, beg or scream?”. My husband was waiting for me at home. His explanation was “I knew, they would never kill you, but they could kill me, because I’m a man!”. Lol.
My Patrinarc would protect me only in case of my complete obedience to him. That never happened. Lol.
Aside of my first husband and Patrinarc, my other narcs always protected me.
Interesting, that omegas are healers and carriers in the real wolves’ packs. They are invisible, they are in shadows, but alfas protect them fiercely from others.
My narcs do the same. When they are wounded, they always come to me for healing. My Grandpatrinarc even chose to spend his last hours with me. It was an honor.
Noname
It is a different dynamic when your in a family of narcs as opposed to just an intimate relationship with one narc. In a family of narcs, they may all feel superior to us empaths, but like you said, we are the caretakers, the healers, the ones that raise the children and keep things running smoothly.
My grandmother was an empath and I remember her telling me not to let the others abuse and ugly comments pull me down. That we were the glue that held everything together. Without us to support them, the family wouldn’t be able to function.
You are absolutely right, Windstorm! My grandmother and I were the same – the glue, the peacemakers, the caretakers.
When she died, I was a single person who continued to do it. I was very young, I had my own internal problems and it was very hard to handle everything. I realized HOW MUCH my grandmother had on her fragile plates. She had an enormous strength of spirit.
My Grandpatrinarc was devastated by her death, but he did everything to help me to maintain a peace. When he died, I saw no reason to do it anymore. I was a member of my Grandpatrinarc’s “pack” and my Patrinarc meant nothing to me. I left his “pack”. Of course, I maintain a routine contact with all of them (we are the relatives after all), but I’m not “theirs”.
I’m a member of my husband’s “pack” now and it isn’t hard to maintain the peace in the family, because he always wanted it.
Noname
I left my family pack as well after the death of my father and grandmother and joined my husbands family pack. It lasted until my father in law and mother in law died (I was very close to both of them). Now it is more fragmented, but we are all still very close.
Yes, for me the wolf pack is a good analogy. I’m an old wolf on the periphery now, left mainly alone and to help out the younger ones in their prime care for their young. But still respected and cared for as a repository of wisdom and knowledge.
I’m very glad to hear it, Windstorm. I want the same future for myself. The older I become, the more I prone to be a hermit. The remote house, nature, grandchildren, my books and my memories…perfect.
If it were the right circumstances, I would be glad to share a bottle of good wine with you and talk about this strange, but no less interesting life. Cheers!
Noname
Cheers to you as well!
Noname and windstorm,
I enjoyed ur discussion abt narcs being like packs of wolves. It is interesting.
Because my dad, sister, and uncle may be narcs (i am not sure yet), i can somewhat understand this.
My dad protected me many times, tho we were v scared of him because he was unpredictable and wud erupt anytime.
My sister has no empathy for me, but on the rare occasion, when she chooses to be nice, her kindness overflows (only later to be withdrawn).
My uncle, ohhhh, elongated golden prd for life! He is always laying on the sweetness, the compliments, etc. But i see the way he treats my aunt. That had me guessing recently that he’s a narc.
Maybe if the narc is not the intimate partner, like one of u ladies stated, it is a little different. But this wud not apply to many situations where there is a mean family narc such as matrinarc.
Thx for the interesting discussion.
😊
Luckily never experienced this
Overthinker
Me too!
I’m living this exact thing right now I thought I was just being paranoid because I escaped him. I feel him at night I hear things not every night but is he there and my intuition is warning me or what? What causes this feeling?
Legit something will wake me up in the middle of the night and I know something is wrong but I can’t figure out what. It happened last night. I checked the house everything seemed normal my kids were safely sleeping but it’s almost like I can feel him near. I thought perhaps this was just left over abuse residual because I’m trained to think he’s everywhere and knows everything until I read this article this morning. HG for real what the hell is causing this?
Hypervigilance.
When I was in my first marriage, I had a stalker. He was a psychopath with necrophilic tendencies (officially diagnosed).
When he was out of mental hospital (his mother put him there repeatedly), he loitered around my house and planted his letters on my porch.
In the most cases, his letters were benign (“I’m your guardian angel”, “I protect you from evil”). Some of his letters showed his annoyance and irritation (“I hate when you wear the trousers”, “I hate your husband”). His last letter was “One day I’ll kill you in the most cruel way you can imagine”.
He died from tuberculosis several years ago…
No name
That would have scared me senseless!
I wonder why he didn’t just email u? Maybe he didn’t have ur email address.
That comment was for noname.
Probably no Internet or email back then
You are right, girls, I didn’t have an Internet back then. But if I had, I guess I would receive the classic letters anyway. He signed them with a drop of blood (his? animal’s?). Unpleasant guy.
Noname,
Thank u for ur reply.
Now that is the scariest thing I have seen all Halloween.
HG, is it safe to say that something like this is more in the nature of a Greater? Especially since the lesser is more knee jerk and a midrange is likely to slink away.
Greater or upper echelon mid ranger.
Soo accurate HG! Feels like you just describe my story! In addition to your beautiful writing I say that my ex was spying on me at times even when we were together! Only now I start realizing how sick his mind is 😢
HG have you ever stalked an ex like this?
Like?